


Lupercalia

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cupcakes, First Meetings, Funny, Gen, History References, M/M, Married Couple, Office Party, POV Outsider, Rumors, odd couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29450091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Skip is the head of the party committee at the office and finally has gotten a green light to throw of Valentine's Day party. Theories are exchanged when their weird special consultant Speirs notifies that he's bringing a plus one.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49
Collections: Band of Brothers Love Fest 2021





	Lupercalia

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [masongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl) in the [BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021) collection. 



> This Lovefest prompt was like made for me, so of course I took it. I have mostly laughed at my own jokes while plotting this, so I hope y'all get some amusement out of this as well.

It was the second most wonderful time of the year. Love was in the air for the whole February, and even if one didn’t buy into the charm of the Valentine’s Day, in Skip Muck’s opinion only Christmas made people happier. It was a month of love, everywhere there were decorations, chocolate, sweets, couples-themed events and parties, and even if February was short, it was full of beauty. 

This year was especially wonderful, because their new department head Winters had approved Skip’s pitch for a Valentine’s Day office party. Their office never had parties, never hosted any sort of events or celebrations, and never allowed quests. The upper management said something about security issues and passes and possible leaks of intel. Director Sink even referenced some big disastrous journalism stunt that had absolutely humiliated the entire bureau back in the eighties, but to Skip it was all just excuses. 

They were a research and data analysis office. What was the worst that could happen? Their office was dull and ordinary, just like a million other office buildings in the country. They might have as well been selling paper behind their metal detectors and thumbprint scanners; there was really no reason to worry.

They could all use a little love, Skip had argued. A little party. That wouldn’t kill anyone! Or at least a secret admirer event, or at least decorations. Something! He had been approved as the party planner of the office, but after he had pushed that through he hadn’t been prepared to not be allowed any parties. 

But finally Winters had seen the light. He had approved the decorations and a small catering budget, even guests, and Skip couldn’t have been happier. He didn’t even care that Alex and Don, his party committee, had apparently thought they would never have to actually throw a party with him.

“There was definitely a plus one marked next to his name on the attendance list,” Alex said one late afternoon when they were crafting Valentine’s decorations for the office around the round table in the breakroom.

“What? No way!” Skip blurted out, a spontaneous reaction. His brow furrowed as he stared at his friend, who simply gave back a meaningful look. “Wait… Are you sure?” Skip asked.

Don was the only one still stapling links to their pink paper chain, but still he exchanged an equally disbelieving look with Skip. They searched each other’s eyes for answers, reason, a punchline, anything, but came back simply confused and returned to stare at Alex.

Alex shrugged. “I’m telling you! I put my name on the list and glanced it through, and next to Speirs there was a cross marking the plus one. I saw it, I swear!”

“That… That must be a pet or something,” Skip said, slowly shaking his head even as he went back to cutting slips off the pink cardboard. “Like his… Snake or something. He looks like he might have a reptile at home. He looks like he buys hamsters and mice from pet stores, drops them into the snake tank and calls it Discovery Channel or something.”

“Hey, reptiles are perfectly normal pets! My kid brother has a ball python,” Don reminded Skip, bumping him with an elbow.

“I know! I’m not blaming the snake,” Skip defended his theory. “Reptiles are normal, and normal people get reptiles, but you can’t deny that what I just suggested sounds like… Speirs.” He lowered his voice tactfully before he spoke the name, but still all four of them looked covertly around them to see where the man was. 

They spotted him by the water dispenser well out of the hearing range, filling his own mug instead of a disposable plastic cup. They spied the “special consultant Speirs” filling the mug, then without a hurry retreating back to his own office. 

Don huffed. “No, it’s gotta be a person. His wife, no doubt,” he said reasonably. “He wears a wedding ring, you know?”

“That doesn’t mean he’s married,” Alton More said. He was just hanging out with them, not even helping with the decorations but offering his opinion on them nonetheless. 

“Uh, yes it does,” Don argued with a roll of his eyes. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Alton said, slowly and meaningfully enough for them to pay proper attention. He raised his brows at each of them, and like on some voiceless signal they all glanced back towards the office window. They jumped on their seats: Speirs was staring back.

They turned quickly away and went back to making the decorations. Alex made another silk paper bow and planted it unceremoniously on the paper chain they were making, and Don made a new link. 

“You know… I know people from HR,” Alton said, his voice low and conspicuous. “There’s a lot of talk why he’s here. A special consultant at a case analysis department, hello? Why do you think he’s here?” 

All three shifted uncomfortably on their seats. There was indeed talk. The kind of documents they usually got marked as “special consultation” came from the toughest maximum security prisons and secret army bases all over the world. They had never had a person with anything like that in their job description brought in, but for the last five years they had had Speirs, who had his own office he allowed no one in, who never spoke about his private life, and whose job was a mystery to all of them on the floor. 

Besides, he was strange. He never really did anything that drew attention – not mentioning how he had completely lost his temper on a few occasions during the five years he had been working there. Other than that, he wasn’t mean, hostile or unhinged, but there was just something… Off… About him. Everyone knew and no one spoke of it. 

Alton was ready to offer one of his explanations. “I heard from my buddy that a guy in their department knows a guy who had been told how he got hired here and what he does. Someone had seen his resume too, and it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen before.”

He paused for dramatic effect, and Skip leaned forward. “Well?”

“Well… It’s not his wedding ring,” Alton said ominously, his face grim.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, impatient. The pink paper chain hanged loosely in their hold, completely forgotten.

“He’s done time,” Alton said, “and he should be doing time still. He’s got seventy-six life sentences, one for each person he’s killed.” He paused, and before Don had the chance to scoff at him, he added: “That we know of, anyway.” 

Don was about to turn to Skip and Alex to reaffirm how wild the story was, only to find his otherwise brilliant mathlete friends completely captivated. 

“But what about the wedding ring?” Alex asked in a whisper.

“That’s how he got caught,” Alton continued. “He was stalking this one family – that was his thing, you see. He followed families, stalking them for weeks at a time and learning the details of their lives, and then on the right moment he would move in and kill them all. But with this last family, he got unlucky. On the evening he had decided he would make his kill, everything went like he planned. He broke in just when they had sat down for dinner and made clear of the entire family in the matter of minutes, using knives from their own kitchen. As a trophy, he took the wedding rings off the parents.” 

Don rolled his eyes, but Alex and Skip were dead silent. “But then?” Skip asked.

Alton lifted a finger. “He got unlucky. What he didn’t know was that the family had a daughter off to college, and she was supposed to come visit them that very day. She avoided the massacre just barely, so barely she got the glimpse of him through the dining room windows and called the police. That night, Speirs was caught and later tried, and he confessed to numerous other murders and was sentenced to life in prison. But no one has the knowledge of serial killers like he has and is both sane and willing, so he got brought on for a case, and under certain special circumstances he’s been released, and works here.”

Don sighed. “Okay, smart guy,” he said. “How come he’s still wearing one of his murder trophies then?” 

“It was on him when he was arrested,” Alton explained, expression dark. “So it is technically his. They say he swore off violence in the prison, but you know what the stats look like and what we’ve learned. Killing is a thrill, an addiction, and once they start, they never stop. I bet he’s only biding his time before he kills again, and meanwhile he enjoys that trophy from his last blood high.” 

He was done with the story, leaving an eerie ring after it. 

Don didn’t really believe it, but he couldn’t put in out of his mind either. There was some truth to it after all: they didn’t know why they had Speirs at the office, or what it was exactly that he did. They sure didn’t consult him on anything and he didn’t act as a project leader, but still had his own office next to Winters and Nixon. He was technically part of their department’s management, but whatever his job was, it wasn’t visible to the analysts on the floor. 

The Valentine’s Day party was approaching, and Skip had put Don in charge of the catering. Their party was going to be an after-hours evening event at the office so he was thinking savoury pastries and then themed sweets, but coming up with something fitting for everyone was the real chore. He wanted to offer something fitting for everyone, and diet restrictions aside that required him to ask around.

Lingering in the breakroom during lunch, Don ambushed people with his clipboard and interviewed everyone about their favourite pastries, candies and drink options and put the thoughts of the budget out of his mind for now. 

George Luz came in to brew coffee and then stuck around to wait for it with his special sugars and milk ready when Don caught him. George had a long list of favourites of his own and offered his thoughts on the menu for Don without asking too, but having been around for George’s kids’ parties, Don accepted the help.

“Hey… Do you think Speirs is a serial killer?” Don asked out of the blue.

George was in the middle of a long rant comparing pies and cakes and abruptly stopped. He gave Don a questioning look, and Don shrugged, feeling ridiculous already.

“I don’t… I mean, More was just talking,” Don explained, internally cursing Alton.

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Georg agreed, his voice intrigued. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot, actually. Depends on who you ask. It seems no one knows exactly why we got him here. He might as well be a… Well.”

Don was surprised to hear someone agree, and his stomach gave a worried lurch. “You think he’s a serial killer specialist as in… The real deal himself? But that… They wouldn’t have released him! Also, I tried googling his name – “

“Who’s to say he kept his real name?” George interjected. “We both know people get deals all the time. It’s not impossible. Actually, I wouldn’t be that surprised considering the kind of data we get here. It’s top secret so we even got the security to hold him. Sure, no one comes in, but no one gets out either. How is this any different than an actual prison?”

Don hated having to listen to something like this from someone else than Alton, whose true crime obsession could be blamed for everything. George Luz on the other hand, while loving gossip, was no liar. Don felt a tingle of cold sweat on the back of his neck. 

“More said he killed a family of four on the night he got caught, the third kid barely missing him,” Don said.

Luz raised his brows at him. “I heard different. Frank told me he didn’t walk in on a family, but a reunion plus guests. It was a bloodbath, but no matter how swift and strong he is, even he couldn’t finish off thirty people with a knife alone. Some got away.”

At this point, Don didn’t care if that was true or not, but the mere implication was enough to disturb him. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he whispered. “Why a knife though?” 

“Well, why not?” George said and went to make his fancy latte. “When indoors and close range, knife wins over a gun. And psychology wise it makes sense. A gun would be too quick, Speirs is the type who wants to savour each one of his kills. Every, single, one.”

Don shivered. “Like a murder bender.”

“Yeah,” George agreed. “On top of that, have you noticed the letter opener on his desk? He could do it again if he wanted to. I bet that’s how he gets through the day.”

“Malarkey,” spoke a voice that made both of them jump. George spilled a copious amount of his coffee on the table and swore. 

Don turned his wide eyes towards Speirs, who was standing in the doorway, looking at him. He had no idea how long he had been there.

“Y- Yes?” Don asked.

Speirs stared him in the eye for a moment, still as a stone, before nodding towards the clipboard in his hands. “Is that the catering wishlist for the party?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Don said. “Would you like to make a request?” 

“In the matter of fact, yes,” Speirs replied and strolled into the breakroom, right up to Don and took the clipboard and his pen from him. He didn’t seem to have to think about it long, but scribbled his requests down on the list and handed the clipboard back. 

“There you go,” Speirs said.

“Alright. Thank you,” Don replied, feeling slightly numb as he accepted the clipboard back.

Speirs turned to leave without getting anything else from the breakroom, and was already at the door when he seemed to remember himself.

“Oh, Mr. Luz?” he called.

George, who had been hovering awkwardly on the periphery of the conversation without saying a word and drying spilled coffee off the table, looked up.

Speirs looked him in the eye, his face just as deadpan as it always was. “I haven’t ever been to a family reunion,” he said as if he just felt like mentioning it, then turned and left.

George and Don stood frozen still for a moment, then turned to look at each other, both pale and shaken. 

Don opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no voice came out, so he simply shook his head, and George shook his head back.

Don glanced at the clipboard. “He would like chocolate cupcakes with caramel frosting,” he read out loud, “and he stole my pen.”

The afternoon of the Valentine’s Day was lovely actually, despite all the chaos that had led up to it. Skip was happy how his efforts had turned out and admired his handiwork. The decorations were on-point even though he had had nothing except cheap arts and crafts store materials to use and Alex hadn’t even known about how many different types of scissors there was when they had started. Don had managed to find a pink tablecloth on sale, and given how the office was where the grim and the mundane married in a breathtakingly soul-sucking manner, just a splash of pink and a few paper hearts went a long way. 

Skip was especially proud of Don and how he had worked on the food. He had found a good catering company and made a list of everyone’s preferences, allergies and special diets and then comprised a menu that had something for everyone, was within budget, and looked nice when displayed. 

Skip felt really good about himself and his buddies. This was exactly what he had wanted when he had pitched the party committee, and bringing a little romance to the office on such a great holiday was almost as great as throwing surprise birthday parties. 

Lucky for them, the office floor wasn’t too tightly furnished, because with the guest the populace there had nearly doubled. Skip already knew almost everyone’s girlfriends, boyfriends and spouses, but there were new faces too.

Skip liked to make sure everyone was having a good time and dropped in to say hello to all the people he knew. So many spouses were actually interested in the mere prospect of visiting the office that Skip felt like he had absolutely exceeded himself and maybe should apologize to Don for making a big deal about matching the cupcake wrappers and straws to the tablecloth. As he poured himself a cup of coffee he couldn’t claim the display didn’t look perfectly acceptable.

There was a stranger lingering by the bulletin board of the office. The various comings and goings and info posters of the office probably were not the best entertainment, so it was practically Skip’s duty to go over and see that their guest wasn’t feeling left out.

“Hi there,” Skip said as he went over, “Having a good time?” 

The man turned away from their weekly calendar to give Skip a kind smile. “Yes, thank you,” he replied with a polite smile. “I was just curious.”

“That’s alright,” Skip said, then leaned forwards to conspiring whisper, “Everything top secret is kept well hidden.” 

The man’s polite smile widened into a genuinely amused one and it warmed his brown eyes even more. Skip tilted his head to regard the stranger. He was a big guy, almost a head taller than he was and broad-shouldered, but remarkably friendly looking. He had a warm, welcoming aura to him, a genuine smile and kind if a bit melancholic brown eyes. 

“Skip Muck is the name,” Skip said, offering his hand, “I’m a statistical analyst here. And you are?”

“Carwood Lipton,” the man said, gripping Skip’s hand and giving it a hearty shake. “You planned this, I recon?”

Skip was slightly taken aback, then broke into a proud smile. “Yep! Together with my buddies. It’s a team effort, but we really just wanted to brighten the workday a bit. It can get a bit gloomy around here.”

Carwood nodded and smiled with compassion. “Yeah, I can only imagine. It was really nice of you to do this. I heard it wasn’t easy to get it past the management.” 

Skip waved his hand. “Well, yeah, there’s all this fuss about security and what not. Luckily Mr. Winters – you see that red-headed tall guy over there? – isn’t square over stuff like this. He actually checked if this could happen, and it turns out that we’re cool.”

“Sounds like you got a good work community here,” Carwood said and actually sounded somewhat relieved. 

Skip measured him up subtly. He was dressed in business casual with a neat, deep brown suit and a cream white button up shirt without a tie. He had brown hair that he had neatly combed aside, a pinkish scar on his face, and a relaxed demeanour. He was very present and seemed genuinely interested in the party, but for some reason Skip couldn’t imagine him really belonging in the suit.

“I get that our office can feel interesting if you’re here for the first time,” Skip said. “But really, it’s mostly about analysis, so just a lot of math and cute Excel tables about stuff going on here.”

Carwood laughed. “That’s what I’ve heard. But it’s really important what you do, even if it’s not glamorous. I really admire your work,” he said.

Skip didn’t know what to do with such a genuine response to a little jab at office work and fumbled for a moment. “And what is it that you do?” he asked. 

“I’m a woodwork artisan,“ Carwood answered, his eyes lighting up and suddenly he didn’t seem melancholic at all. “I have my own company. I design and renovate kitchens. I design all the cabinets myself and build everything from the base material. I’ve been thinking of branching out to renovating bathrooms too, but there’s just something about kitchens that I like. People spend so much time in their kitchens and it’s sort of a heart of the home, and getting to give people exactly what they like and balance it between art and functionality is just something I’m very privileged to do.”

Skip listened to the flood of passion with a growing warmth in his chest. He immediately liked the guy, and how could he not? Someone who was so passionate about renovating kitchens had to be a good person. 

“Art, huh?” Skip asked.

There was a slight flush on Carwood’s face as if he was a bit embarrassed about how he had rambled about his passion, but he quirked a smile at Skip’s question and nodded. “Yes, it’s probably my favorite part. There’s so much hidden work there in the details. The materials, the paint, the overall colour scheme, what kind of handles to use and then the design of the cabinet itself. There’s real art there in carving and sculpting,” he explained, clearly passionate even when he shrugged and bowed his head, just a little bit shy. 

“That sounds great. You have some real passion in your craft. If I ever own a house and want to renovate my kitchen, I’ll call you,” Skip promised.

Carwood smiled kindly and nodded his head like in a discreet little bow. “I’d be honored.”

“So, who are you here with?” Skip asked. 

“My husband invited me,” Carwood answered in a sigh and a whole new kind of a smile bloomed on his face. “He doesn’t like to talk about work stuff with me, so I was really touched when he asked me to come today.”

A husband who he didn’t know of beforehand sparked a real sense of curiosity in Skip. Quickly he scanned the crowd and took a mental tally of those he didn’t know that well, then turned back to Carwood and tried to match him with someone in the office. He was feeling playful in the spirit of the holiday, so instead of asking directly, Skip asked: “And how is he, your husband?”

A flush rose to Carwood’s face and made him look younger. He looked away from Skip for a moment trying to compose himself, his blush and smile, and then cleared his throat. 

“He’s really nice,” he said nonchalantly even though it was obvious he wanted to say much much more. 

Skip allowed a small grin for himself. “Oh come on, I can’t guess if you won’t give me any real hints.” 

Carwood gave him a careful, playfully considerate look. He was clearly fighting between wanting to be professional and openly as in love as he probably was, and the deepening blush on his face told Skip that he wanted to fall over to the more reckless side.

“He’s… Um…” Carwood hesitated and struggled to school his expression into a more serious one, “He’s really great. He’s the most impressive guy I’ve ever met, really strong and brave and totally reliable. I’d trust him with my life.” He sighed and stared somewhere in the distance for a moment. “But he’s also such a warm, caring person, and a complete romantic. I must be the luckiest man on Earth to get someone who is always thinking about what’s best for us and who’s so completely devoted to our marriage, but who also after ten years takes time to write love letters to me. He’s just… He’s just amazing.” He chuckled a bit, glanced at Skip with a twinkle in his eye and then dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Wow,” Skip said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and there was no bell ringing in his mind either. Carwood indeed sounded as lucky as he said he was and looked very happy, but Skip couldn’t think of anything in the office that could be his husband. 

“What does he look like?” Skip asked. “Other than the most handsome man in the world, I assume?” 

Carwood chuckled at being teased. He seemed to have good humour to him along with artistic passions and kindness, and Skip couldn’t for the life of him begin to guess whose match he was. “Tall, dark and mysterious,” he joked back at Skip, who snorted. 

“Also probably carrying a drink for me,” Carwood added, turning to scan the crowd with an expression that would have suited more for someone welcoming their sweetheart back from a war and not looking for him at an office party. 

Skip wondered what exactly went into making a relationship that left a man that yearning to be separated for a few minutes. He didn’t have time to wonder too long though, because suddenly Carwood’s expression brightened.

“Over here, Ron!” he called and waved.

Skip froze and stared at the man smiling softly and beckoning his husband to him and wondered if he was experiencing audio processing issues again. The little hairs in the back of Skip’s neck stood up on instinct, and for a few seconds he was afraid of looking to his left. 

“There you are,” said Speirs’ smooth growl of a voice. It was worse hearing him without seeing him, so Skip had to turn and look.

Speirs had creeped up on them like a shark from the deep, emerging from the crowd of people all of a sudden. He was carrying a paper plate with a cupcake in one hand and two pink paper cups of sparkling wine in them, and as soon as he reached them offered both the plate and the cups to Carwood, who carefully accepted the plate as well as one of the cups dangling from Speirs’ fingers.

“I was starting to miss you,” Carwood said with a grin as he accepted the offerings. “My, this is cute,” he added as he took a closer look at the cupcake he’d just been handed. 

“I’ll always come back to you,” Speirs said with a twitch of a smile that bared his teeth, and Carwood’s soft smile grew wider in response. 

“Skip here was trying to guess who I’m married to,” Carwood said with a nod and a smile in his direction. 

Skip did his best to return that smile even when Speirs’ cold eyes shifted their focus on him and seemed to bore into his soul. Speirs took a slow sip and not even the pink paper cup could make him look less threatening. 

“Is that so?” Speirs said to him. “Who did you guess?” 

Skip opened his mouth to defend himself but no words came out under that intense stare. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t started throwing guesses, because he had a creeping suspicion that Speirs wouldn’t see the funny side of some random analyst from his department pimping out his husband in his mind. 

“I didn’t, sir,” Skip answered in a thin voice. 

Carwood gave him a slightly puzzled look with his head tilted, perhaps at the change in his tone, but then turned to look at Speirs again and that glowing, tender smile was back on his face. 

“I’m afraid I got too carried away just talking about you to let him actually guess,” Carwood said. “I was just telling him what a wonderful husband you are and how lucky I am to be with you.” 

Slowly Speirs’ eyes moved to Carwood, followed by a tilt of his head that Skip couldn’t see as anything but an aloof gesture of superiority, but all he could do was sigh quietly in relief now that the frostbite of his gaze was taken off him. 

“Did you now?” Speirs inquired with a voice smooth like steel. 

Carwood just smiled back at him. “Couldn’t help myself, I suppose,” he quipped. 

“You’re incorrigible, sweetheart,” Speirs scolded and scooped closer to Carwood. 

Skip nearly inhaled his coffee and did his best to force the liquid out of his windpipe without downright sputtering. “So,” Skip coughed out in order to have a reason to clear his throat first once, and then one more time, “how did you two meet?” he asked, eyes watering. 

The question seemed to be a surprising one despite being one of the most basic ones any couple would be asked at some point. Speirs turned his icy look back at Skip again and looked down at him his face completely expressionless like Skip had just said something so incredibly offensive that there was no other suitable reply. 

Skip turned his eyes to Carwood looking for support, but for the first time Carwood wasn’t smiling either, his sad brown eyes turned to Speirs as he swayed slightly towards him like he wanted to lean on him but couldn’t. The silent seconds stretched long and the moment felt frozen solid, but finally Carwood gave a sigh and remarked simply: “It’s a long story.”

It must have been something in his voice that snapped Speirs out his deadpan stare, and it appeared that Carwood was simply immune to his soulless eyes because when their gazes locked the tension cracked and melted away. Speirs pressed against Carwood’s side and hooked his arm around his. “Try the cupcake, will you? Our party planners worked so hard for this whole event.”

Carwood turned to Skip, who could breathe again, and smiled again. “So I heard. It’s a very lovely event.” He picked up the cupcake and tasted it, a spark lighting in his eyes. “Oh, these are my favorite,” he sighed and took another bite. 

Speirs watched him eat, his head tilted and a smug look on his face. “It’s not quite a Lupercalia offering, but it should do,” he said. 

“I thought you’d have to slaughter he-goats and a dog for Lupercalia?” Carwood noted with caramel frosting on the corner of his mouth.

Speirs just smirked and reached to wipe the little dab of frosting off with his thumb. “There’s still time,” he remarked with a toothy smile. “Now, if Mr. Muck would excuse us, I’ll steal my own husband away and take him to meet my other colleagues and thank Mr. Malarkey for the baked goods.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Skip agreed with a voice that came out a bit faster than normal, “I think I’ll go phone Faye in New York and… Cry for a bit, you know? Have good one!” Before either one could say anything, he started speedwalking towards the bathrooms. It was practically his duty as a good boyfriend to call Faye, and that duty was more important than to stay to support Don who would be next on the list of casualties of the worst Good-Cop-Bad-Cop routine he had ever seen.

At least Don would be protected by his cupcake offerings.


End file.
